


i'm okay she swears

by umtyde



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: F/F, and awfully written, but yanno whatever idc, lmao yeah i do, shit this is angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 14:01:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8251700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umtyde/pseuds/umtyde
Summary: and tonight, you’ll crawl into bed and dream of a broken unbreakable smile and not waking up.





	

“I miss you.” Weak, wavering over the heavy weight of cellphone static, so tired and low you fear she didn’t say anything at all.

“Are you drunk?” Stern and taut and you hate the way it sounds but god, you have to know.

There’s a dead silence, a state of quiet so dull and foreign.

Like a vague nostalgia; a familiarity that shouldn’t exist but does anyway, like bay window talks without the bay window. Like falling in and out of love, like: _“Riley, loving you is just too complicated.”_

_(You weren’t supposed to think that.)_

And when she starts counting - through breathy whispers, laced with a heaving anxiety, one through ten, repeatedly - you decide it’s all your fault.

_(You weren’t supposed to think that either.)_

“Maybe a little.”

She sighs like she’s fine. Like it’s not three in the morning, like she’s not tired and in pain, like she’s not drained and breathless from drunken sobs, curled in on herself, stuck in an air tight bubble of too much heartbreak. A captive stinging metastisizing through her body, tainting her blood, a shade you can only describe as the dead weight in your chest.

Like you didn’t leave her, like she doesn’t hate you, like: _“Maya, you deserve better, I understand, it’s okay.”_

(It's not.)

“Riles, what happened?”

She laughs, dry and bitter and barely loud enough and it’s like a punch to the gut but you deserve it.

“Nothing.”

“Riley,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut, needles of guilt and dejection burning behind them. “Why did you call?”

She pauses for a moment, a fraction of a second but you notice anyway – “yeah,” she says, blowing out a mouthful of air, “yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, meaning: _don’t apologize_ , meaning: _it’s not your fault_ , meaning: _this is all on me,_ meaning: _what the fuck is my problem?_

But you don’t say that.

Instead, you ask if she’s okay and she explains that she’s not and that’s all she says.

She hangs up and everything hurts.

 

-x-

 

The second time it happens you’re at a house party – fluorescent lighting and rooms full of sweaty teenagers, you: only half intoxicated, dancing and making out with girl after girl and –

“Farkle! What the fuck!” You yell as he drags you by the arm, nails only barely digging into your skin.

You end up in his car, out of sight, well away from anyone and your disoriented lack of hindsight feels the need to slap him.

“What do you want?” you snap, bitter and laced with a misplaced hatred, arms folded over your chest.

“Riley called me today.”

_That’s new._

“Okay.”

“She said she needs to talk to you.”

“Okay.”

“Are you going to say _anything_ else or is that it?” he says and you say, “are you sure she wasn’t drunk?” Cold and toxic and you regret it immediately and if he noticed he doesn’t bring it up.

“Here,” he says, tossing his phone into your lap. “Call her.”

“I’m tired, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Maya, you’ve _got_ to stop doing this!”

“Doing _what?_ ”

“ _This!”_ He throws his arms in the air and you feel the temperature drop a degree.

“You loved her, you _still_ love her but you hurt her anyway. And now you’re coming to these stupid fucking parties and screwing everything up even more! How is that fair on _anybody?_ ”

You don’t say anything because he’s right and you know he’s right.

So, instead, you take the phone and hesitantly dial Riley’s number and it rings three times before she picks up and maybe this wasn’t a good idea at all.

“Farkle, what’s wrong?” Panicked and choked and so _not Riley._

You sigh.

“No, Riles. It’s me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say, “how are yo-“

“Can we meet up?”

“What?”

“Can we meet up?” she says again, careful and quiet, and you decide it’s the alcohol talking.

Except, she hasn’t been drinking, and you know she hasn’t been drinking because her voice is flat and, while her thoughts don’t seem coherent enough, she’s stringing them together in a way she can’t do when she’s only half there.

(And that fucking terrifies you.)

“I can’t right now-“

“Please?” Apprehensive and pleading and oddly hopeful.

You sigh.

“Okay.”

“Can we meet at my parents’ place?” she says and you ask her why and she says, “you know why.”

And you do.

Your breath hitches in your throat and you find you have to fight the sudden warmth that spreads through your whole body.

“Bay window, Bay window right in ten minutes.”

 

-x-

 

Outside, it’s cold and raining and you feel as though it’s been nothing but cold and raining since it happened.

(You’re wrong. You just haven’t noticed.)

And the climb up the fire escape is almost too much, you slip three times and consider giving up and going home but Farkle yells for you to keep going and he hasn’t failed you yet so you do it.

And when you get to the window you almost pass out because she’s sat there. Pink streaks and plaid, arms wrapped around herself in a way that claws at your heart, ripped jeans and long sleeves – Riley fucking Matthews.

You feel a pang in your chest.

From guilt or happiness, you don’t know and you don’t want to so instead you take a deep breath, squeeze your eyes shut and knock.

When you don’t hear anything you decide this was a mistake.

You never should have agreed to any of this.

Maybe you should have gotten the fuck out of Farkle’s car when you had the chance. Maybe you should have loved her a little more when you had the chance and maybe then you wouldn’t be here, you wouldn’t be stood, shivering and soaking wet at the window of a girl who doesn’t love you anymore and maybe-

“Hi, Maya.”

-x-

Her room’s the same.

Purple and warm and so painfully familiar.

Empty picture frames and old textbooks collecting dust and the same colorful sheets. The place still vaguely smells like her, like spring, like purple, like honey, like _home_ and the bay window stopped changing too at some point.

And for that you’re thankful because you’d rather be seeing purple curtains and white cushions and at least a fragment of a naïve little girl’s room. A little girl who hasn’t yet been exposed to the way the universe works. How the _world_ works outside of the third space she’s come to know. How the people you love the most cause the most pain. How people grow apart, how people leave, how people break and shatter and _never come back_.

“How are you?” she asks and you immediately notice the mist in her eyes; a permanent state of “I’m fine, I swear.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “how are _you?_ ”

She takes a deep breath, as if finally _letting go_ after years of _holding on_ and you pray you’re imagining it but no – this is real life.

“I don’t know,” she whispers and you find yourself trapped in another uncomfortable silence.

You clear your throat, “so what have you been up to all this time?”

“I’m a writer,” she says, staring at her lap and you don’t mean to notice but she’s starting to smell like vanilla and smoke and it kills you because _fuck, she’s really moved on._

“What about you?”

“Artist in residence.”

“Sounds fancy.”

And then it’s quiet again and you’re smiling and _okay_ and maybe it’s the normality of being in the bay window with _Riley Matthews_ , surrounded by purple and security and the question leaves your lips before you’re able to stop it:

“Do you still love me?”

It’s quick and full of emotion and you know she hears everything you’re trying to say from the crack in your voice and you want an answer but you don’t deserve one and that’s all your fault, too.

And you’re more than ready to turn around and leave and beg Farkle to take you to his place so you can drink and sleep and continue over and over again until you feel human and -

“Of course I do,” she whispers. “I always will.”

_A flight of hope._

“But I don’t think I can trust you anymore.”

_Your shoulders drop and you physically feel the puncture in your chest and all the hope bleeding from your heart and you don’t care enough to do anything about it._

“I’m with someone now,” and you don’t want to fucking hear this but she’s _trying_ so you hold back your tears and _listen_. “She’s beautiful and talented and she treats me _right._ ”

The word feels like poison dripping off her tongue and touching you where she knows it stings, but you can’t yell at her because you had it coming and you know she’s right.

“I can’t date anyone,” you breathe out, just barely because nothing else could make this any worse, “It wouldn’t be fair.”

A pause. A second for everything to drain completely and then she says, curious and desolate and almost entirely blank, “why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

_You know._

“Cheat on me.”

_You hate yourself._

“I’m sorry,” you say, small and desperate and it’s barely above a whisper.

You _are_ sorry. And she knows this.

“You say that a lot,” and for the first time in five years she looks up at you and _fuck, you know you deserve this kind of pain._ “But it’s not an explanation.”

_She’s crying and it’s because of you._

“You’re right. It’s not and I don’t have one and I’m so fucking sorry.”

_Your voice cracks and you let it._

“It was _us_. It was _RileyandMaya_ but… it was just the wrong time.”

“That’s bullshit,” she says but she doesn’t sound mad and you think that perhaps this kind of suffering was mapped out and made just for you.

“I wasn’t what you needed,” she says. “And yeah, I do believe that you love me, that you _loved_ me… at some point. But I also believe that you just loved _her_ a little bit more.”

And you understand now why they describe it as _worse than death_ because what’s life when _your life_ isn’t there?

 

-x-

 

Tonight, you’ll go home with a hazy image of chocolate hair and brown eyes and a heart too pure.

And tonight, you’ll crawl into bed and dream of a broken unbreakable smile and not waking up.

 

**Author's Note:**

> oh shit this is awful


End file.
